Monster
by FlorenceBradbury
Summary: Percy had been born a glass child. Fear and longing were his closest companions. He always figured that it would be impossible to feel something as human as regret or guilt. Yet the despondency of the girls awakened something in him; that pain that comes around when a person knows they have done a trespass. Based on Meg and Dia's Monster. *username formerly XxbethamphetaminexX*


******6/4/13- Somebody told me that using lyrics in stories wasn't allowed. Although I think that rule is stupid, I don't want to risk getting this reported, so I took them down. If you want the lyrics to the song, you'll have to look them up. Sorry :(**

**Warning: Very dark with a very unhappy ending. You've been warned. **

**Disclaimer: Rick Riordan owns PJO and Meg and Dia own the song "Monster" and the short story "Monster" was based on.**

The couch was his favorite place to escape. He also hid under the table, in the closet under the stairs. Those were his three places to hide; those places were the only places where he could find even the simplest peace. They were always either shockingly cold or unbearably hot, they were foul-smelling, and they were so small that he had to pray that he could fit in them. But they were his sanctuaries.

Still, they offered little protection. The soft, cold underside of the couch didn't protect him when their voices reverberated off the walls and pounded into his eardrums. The hollow under the table didn't save him when his father decided that he'd like to discipline his young son with a cracked beer bottle. The closet under the stairs offered no comfort during the few times he heard his parents laughing without him, happy that he wasn't in the room.

But what else could he do? Go out in the open where he could be seen? Of course not. Even at age six, he wasn't that stupid. He knew that his father, who always instructed him to address him as _Sir_, would simply cast him aside without a second thought. His mother, who demanded that he called her Hannah, would agree and probably help. That's what would've happened if he was lucky. If he wasn't lucky?

Well, he preferred not to think about the times he wasn't lucky.

He wished he knew why his parents hated him so. He'd never caused them any misfortune. All the young boy did was _exist_. Yet his parents acted like that was a horrendous crime, and they punished him as they saw fit. He didn't hate his parents for it, though. He loved them in a sense. It was more like he yearned for them; he wanted _them_ to love _him_. He sometimes tried to win their affections, but it always ended with a beating. Late at night, he would sneak into his parents' room and look at them while they slept, if they happened to be sleeping. He always thought that Hannah was so pretty when she slept. She was pretty when she was happy, too. But at the age of 20, she was old, often tired from lack of sleep, voice cracking from screaming too often, body damaged by the sweet liquor that overpowered her porcelain body. Sir was the same; both sleep and glee seemed to sand over the deep wrinkles and frown lines on his face. In dormancy, one could actually see that Sir was a simple man of 22. He liked to see his parents in their peaceful state. It helped him ignore their irate faces when they beat him.

He always took a morbid fascination in his abuse, the systematic way it was performed. It was always after every _little_ altercation; after every biting word by Hannah, and every bottle emptied by Sir they would come looking. Her, happy to see her husband turn his malice towards their spawn. Him, happy to turn his malice away from himself and onto an easy target.

"Sir," the boy would say. His tone held no emotion, but his eyes held fear. His eyes would wander to Hannah with frightened curiosity. _What had I done?_ he wondered.

When he wasn't hiding or being beaten, he was confined to his room. It was a tiny, pathetic excuse for a room and had a single window that had long since been caked with a variety of grime. It was a dark room with the only light sources being the amiable fireflies that would wander in and entertain him. He hated the dark. They knew it, and loved to lock him in after a long day. They locked him in so it was easier to get to him.

One thing he really hated about his room was the creatures. They entered his mind through the window. He felt their hearts pulsate from under the broken mattress he slept on and felt their flame-hot breath on the back of his ears and neck. Their faces hovered over his while he slept: The paper-white girl with bleeding eyes that would crawl towards him with outstretched fingers and white hair wrapped around her neck like a noose, the reptilian man with bulging yellow eyes and hundreds of sharpened fangs lining his thin, black lips. They creeped around his room and peered through his window to watch him sleep. In moments of severe desperation, he would run out to his parents to avoid them. It never ended well. And when they were done, they'd just lock him back up with the creatures again.

He called him Sir. He called her Hannah. They called him Percy at school. They called him Percy at church.

They called him Monster at home.

XXX

13 years later, Percy was living his second year as a college man. He didn't have a passion to accomplish anything in particular and only put forth enough effort in his classes to get straight C's. Teachers tried conferencing him, but he avoid meeting with his professors alone. He still didn't trust people and hated crowds. Percy didn't have any friends due his suspicion of any person that looked his way, and spent all of his free time alone. After school, instead of meeting up with friends or attending a meeting for a club or sport, he went straight to his single dorm. Percy would sit at the small, wooden desk he got at a garage sale and stay there with some books, his homework, and a bottle of vodka. Then the day would eventually end and he'd get ready for the next one.

He always slept with the lights on and the windows closed.

He met a girl. They didn't know each other very well, but they crossed paths from time to time since her dorm was nearby and were silently polite during such occasions, although they both avoided saying much. She was a beauty, delicate in appearance. Her honey blonde hair fell in ringlets down her back and shoulders. She had faultless tanned skin, probably from spending most of her time outdoors. Her figure resembled those seen in paintings of goddess or queens. However, these traits, although without a doubt noticed, did not compare to the beauties that were her eyes. They were attractively wide, a deep grey and lined with long, light brown eyelashes and were often considered intimidating and calculative, but nobody could deny the magnificent sparkle they held when the girl laughed or smiled or the comforting shine when the girl was at peace.

Although he detested most people, Percy was absolutely _entranced_. He had to have her.

See, Percy didn't understand love. He didn't understand any form of human connection. Percy only understood change; concepts like safety, or any emotions, lovely or hateful, that could be unconditional were foreign and incomprehensible. But seeing this girl, this alluring, unattainable girl, sparked something in him. It was purely physical, but Percy couldn't discern the difference between a physical attraction and an emotional one. He was confused by his own mind and determined to discover what was happening.

_Am I in love?_ he thought. Percy was perplexed and spent sleepless nights thinking about his dilemma. He'd never experienced love and was excited in an almost child-like way to experience it for the first time. He wanted to feel the popular emotion glorified in books and movies. He wanted it to the level of need.

While trying to solve his internal puzzle, Percy tried going deep into his mind and into the more disturbing crevices: his childhood. He thought about how his parents would express their love for each other, during the rare times when they would. _Maybe if I do that, I'll figure this out._

So Percy, not even comprehending the depravity of what he was about to do, approached the girl one day.

XXX

"Can you tell me where the janitor's closet is? I need to get something from there," Percy asked the girl in a monotonous voice. She was confused at first, since he barely spoke to anybody unless forced to do so.

She looked at him strangely, like she couldn't believe what he was doing. "You just go down the hall and make a right turn when you see the vending machine. It's the first door on your right."

"Someone else told me that. I couldn't find it. Can you show me?" he asked. She noticed how his voice was almost robotic, like he practiced what he was going to say. She brushed it off, figuring that his irregular manner of speaking was just another art of his awkward personality. She nodded and beckoned for him to follow her.

When they arrived at the isolated room, instead of him entering on his own, he brutally shoved her in with him. She landed on the cold, hard floor with a _thump,_ and she heard the ominous sound of the door locking. She looked up and saw his green eyes boring into hers with an unreadable emotion in them.

"What are you doing?" she shouted. She quickly stood up and tried to escape, but he was far stronger than she was, and easily grabbed her and held her down to the floor in way that pressed her body up against his.

"I-I don't know," he said in a confused tone. He looked into her eyes for a brief moment. Then he did what she was praying he wouldn't have even _attempted_.

He kissed her.

She fought, yes; she tried her damnedest to push him off. But his hands held her arms to her torso and his knees were pinning hers to the tiles. Her struggles were futile, every move just made his lips push harder against her to the point of pain. His teeth ground against her lips and broke the skin; she tasted the salty, metallic flavor of blood drip down her lips. She felt his mouth move to her neck and she tried to scream when her mouth was free, but his hard, cold hand clamped over her mouth and locked her cries in her throat. Biting the hand that restrained her did nothing, he simply bit her shoulder just as hard.

The girl was powerless to stop him when she heard the fabric of her skirt tear and felt the cold hands on her legs.

The girl could only listen to her scream resonate in the cramped room when the sharp pain came, a pain that symbolized a stolen treasure. _Her_ stolen treasure.

And the girl could only cry at the sight of the violet bruises that ornamented her wrists and ankles long after the boy left.

XXX

That night, Percy dreamt of the girl. He pictured her golden hair and felt her thin ankles in his mind. His dream was so vivid, he could almost feel the soft texture of her warm skin under his ice hands and hear her racing heartbeat under her clothes.

Percy woke up in sweat soaked sheets and a tear-stained pillow. _Was that love?_ he wondered. He reflected back on how she screamed and kicked and clawed. It didn't seem like something people in love did, in his opinion. But what did he know? Besides, his parents were constantly fighting, and they sometimes said that they loved each other when enough liquor hit their systems. _Maybe we need alcohol,_ he thought. But inside, Percy knew that a far more important piece was missing.

When he walked down the halls, he heard the cries before he saw the person crying. It was the girl, in all her glimmering splendor, bawling her eyes out on a bench near her dorm. Not wanting to approach her yet, Percy hid behind the wall nearby so he could watch her. Two friends were on the both of her and holding her in a comforting way, like he often wished his parent would do to him.

"What happened, Annabeth?" one of the girls asked. She had short, blackened hair that complimented the electrifying blue of her eyes. In anger, they were probably terrifying, but they were soft at the sight of her friend's tears.

The girl- Annabeth- shook her head and refused to answer. Her long fingers hid her face, and one could see the purple bruises on her sleek wrists. The other girl, one with choppy, chocolate hair and eyes that were a fractured blend of green, brown and blue, put a hand on Annabeth's shoulder.

"You can't keep it a secret, Beth," she said. Her voice was velvet and seemed to calm everyone around her, even a hidden Percy. The girl's shoulder slumped and she removed her hands from her face. Her eyes, once glittery and full of life, were dull and pedestrian.

"I don't want to talk about it," she muttered. Despite the tears dripping down her face, her voice was steady. "I'm really happy that you guys care so much, but I'd rather be alone right now."

"We're your best friends," the black-haired girl protested. "You know you can tell us anything." The brunette nodded in acquiescence.

"C'mon," she prodded, "tell us. If you're crying about it, then it has to be something big. We want to help, but you have to let us help you." Percy watched with jealous wonder; he never had any friends, people who would support him when his parents wouldn't.

Annabeth sniffed and rubbed her reddened nose. "Alright," she whispered in a defeated tone. Her voice was so low, he had to strain his ears to hear her. He couldn't catch the next word that came out of her mouth, but it would've been impossible to miss her friend's reactions.

_"What?"_ the black-haired girl screamed. The hatred and incredulity in her voice was enough to scare him to the point where he almost ran away in terror. He cautiously peered over the wall. The black-haired girl was standing, trembling with rage and despair. Her eyes could've turned even the strongest one into stone.

"Thalia-" the girl said, but she was cut off by a blue glare. The other girl was affected as well, but wasn't as animated. However, her squeezed-shut eyes and clenched fists showed her inner emotions.

"Who did it?' she asked. Like Annabeth, her voice was steady, but not steady enough to hide a tremble of rage. Despite this, the girl said nothing and looked at the floor. Percy stiffened.

"Piper, I don't want to talk about it," Annabeth mumbled without taking her eyes off the floor. Piper relaxed for a second. She opened her eyes and tears spilled out.

"I know it hurts, Beth," Piper soothed, "but you can't hide this. The _bastard_ who did this has to be punished. You can't just let him roam free. For all we know, he'll do this to other girls." Percy was unaffected by the name-calling since he'd already heard worse names from his family, but he felt something stir within him at the sight of the girls' anguish, a smothered emotion that he didn't even remember feeling.

Piper put a hand under Annabeth's chin and held her head in a position that let them see eye to eye. "None of this is your fault, y'know," said with a warm smile. Thalia relaxed a bit and sat back down on the bench to condole her friend. The girl's grey eyes started to water and her lip shook. She finally smiled, a weak half-smile, but a smile nonetheless. She put her head on Thalia's shoulder and relaxed as her friend ran her fingers through her yellow hair. Annabeth opened her mouth, but Percy fled the scene before he heard her words. He knew she was about to say his name. He also identified the alien emotion brewing in his gut.

It was guilt.

XXX

Percy had been born a child of glass. Fear and longing were his closest companions. He always figured that it would be impossible to feel something as human as regret or guilt. Yet the despondency of the three girls awakened something in him; that hard pain that comes around when a person knows they have done an abhorrent trespass. He ran back to his dorm to avoid the sound of his name rolling off of her tongue. He knew at that moment that he had lived up to the name his parents gave him.

Monster.

XXX

He locked himself in his room. Without the bright lights, it resembled the room he was caged in as a child. The regretful face of Hannah appeared in his mind, so vivid he could've been watching her sleep again. Sir's voice slid into the back of his mind, along with the sound of breaking bottles and screams. His childhood was rushing back to him. Percy could feel the creatures returning to haunt him; now they had another thing to torture him with.

_Monster, monster, monster_, they chanted in his shattered mind. He tried clawing at his skull to relieve himself of their maddening sounds and even ripped an old pillow to pieces and shoved the remains in his ears to dull the noise, but his efforts were in vain.

_Monster, monster, monster. Nobody loves a monster._ Their voices resonated, just like Annabeth's screams did. He couldn't take it. He just wanted it to end.

He wanted _everything_ to end.

XXX

It was gorgeous that afternoon. The night was arriving as a dark shade of purple that splashed across the horizon and mixed with orange, blue, pink and grey. The sun was setting and gave a warm glow over the sky. The wind was blowing and ended up bringing fireflies into the open window of Percy's dorm. He thought about the fireflies he watched in his room as a child. They were the only light- literally and metaphorically-in his black cage. He smiled in reminiscence of his few happy memories. He waved to them as he locked himself in the bathroom.

The water poured out of the faucet at a fast pace, but it wasn't fast enough for Percy. He just wanted to get his over with. He knew that Annabeth had definitely told by now and that the police would arrive any minute. He didn't want to face a courtroom. He didn't want to face prison.

He didn't want to face _her._

When the tub was about halfway filled up with water, he started adding the buckets of kerosene. The strong, almost spicy smell of it burned his nose and made his eyes water, but he kept pouring more and more of the rich, golden liquid into the grave until it was all filled up. He got in without removing his clothes, since there was no point. The kerosene made Percy's flesh tingle, but he ignored it. The only things he had with him were a black Sharpie, a cigarette lighter, and a few stray fireflies that flew in.

With the Sharpie, he wrote on his arm a single word: _Monster_. Written right where he could see the blue veins through his skin. He dropped the Sharpie into the tub, no longer needing it.

Then he ignited the lighter and dropped that in too.

**I highly recommend both listening to the song and reading the short story because Meg and Dia are awesome. I also used some quotes from the story, but not that many.**

**R&R&R**


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